


Impress

by saarebitch



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Job, F/M, Fingering, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Public Sex, just two adults going to a fancy party and getting it on, trying hard not to let everyone know they're getting it on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14898870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saarebitch/pseuds/saarebitch
Summary: An inaugural event in Wycome turns into a battle of wills between Elain and Revas. Neither one wants to lose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, it ain't a party if some horny couple isn't trying to get their bone on without getting caught right???? 
> 
> My first ongoing, chaptered smut. It is also my most self-indulgent, fun one too. Sit back and enjoy the ride B)

Revas rarely watched Elain dress herself. 

It wasn’t that there was no interest in her and what her body could still offer, but rather, a matter of preference. He _preferred_ to do the undressing. What fun was there in putting on clothes, when they could just be off instead, he would say.

He was simple like that, and Elain enjoyed such simplicity about him. The sheer focus of getting to the task at hand, which almost always meant worshipping every inch of her. What wasn’t there to love? She got everything she wanted, all without ever having to coax her partner into it. It was ideal; a boon, really. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, he watched her with great interest.

He sat on the bed in their little guest room they’d been given to stay in at the Nacre Palace, leaned over with his chin resting on his hand, as if he was in deep thought. She dressed herself in front of the large mirror hanging from the wall next to a small vanity, and she could see him focused on her in its reflection. It occurred to her that the only thoughts crossing his mind were on the pile of clothing laying on the table next to her she was preparing to put on.

There was always a thrill when he gave her some new little secret like this though; some precious little treasure for her to pick up and fawn over and use for her pleasure. She was always grateful upon receiving them and tried her best to reward him for every one of those secrets shared. 

So tonight, she’d decided she’d give him a show. 

“You’re watching me very closely, Revas. Is there something interesting about me this evening?” she asked him coyly as she reached on the vanity stand and pulled her opaque stockings from a pile of clothing. 

“Something interesting about you every evening,” he replied nearly immediately, his chin still firmly tucked in his hand.

“I can hear the music playing already,” she changed the subject as she slipped into her stockings, pulling the first one up over her thigh far more slowly than needed. “It’s human music, of course.”

He didn’t answer, but instead, glared intently as the fabric stretching around the muscle of her thigh and as her fingers deftly tied the leather laces sewn in the hem that would keep them from falling. Once finished, Elain set that foot down and picked up her second one. 

“I suppose it’s to be expected,” she lamented with a sigh --though it was more wistful than defeated. Her foot slipped into the stocking, her toe pointed down gracefully. “The feast is for the human delegation, after all. Sal must put on all airs to impress the noble coattail-riders from Starkhaven.”

“And who are _you_ trying to impress?” he asked. “You don’t get dressed up like this unless it’s to impress someone.”

Elain smiled, then reached for the lace smallclothes laying out on the top of the vanity. Orlesian, of course. “Many people.”

“Like who?” he probed her deeper, with both his question and his eyes. She watched them in the mirror all but crawl up her body as she slipped on the lace over her hips. 

“The new Union. The nobility of the Free Cities. The elves that fought here during the siege,” she said absently while she pulled on her dress next. No breast band for this one. Nellia had made the chest of it so tightly fitted, she’d barely be able to breathe as it was; but, she didn’t mind. Appearances were as important as the words, and Elain would not turn down an opportunity to turn every eye in the Free Marches on her tonight. 

“Anyone else?” he said as he stood up from his perch on the bed. 

She focused on hooking the metal clasps sewn on the inside of the front of her bust that kept her dress closed. Once satisfied they were secured, she looked over her shoulder at him, “Who else would I try to impress?”

Revas slowly walked up and stood behind her. He was a towering presence, all shoulders and chest against her smaller frame, and his eyes fell on the reflection of her in the mirror with an unexpected intensity, “I heard there’s going to be a new Warlord attending.”

Elain smoothed the front of her dress and examined herself while he did the same. A skin-tight bust whose sleeves fell off her shoulders, flowing skirts slit up to her upper thigh on one side of her body, thick, black stockings, and the onyx halla charm that once belonged to him that graced her neck. It was stunning ensemble, a credit to Nellia’s abilities. She could not help but admire what she saw. 

_And neither can he_ , she thought to herself when his fingers grazed over her bare shoulder.

“So I’ve heard,” she answered his game with her own, her mouth turning into a sly grin. “But I’ve also heard this Warlord is _quite_ the beast. It would be better to focus on those who will treat me gently, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he said lowly. “Does that impress you? Being gentle?” 

His fingertips dragged themselves down her shoulder, down her arm, until they settled on her waist, finding a home on the bone of her hip. Those fingertips pressed into it ever so slightly, only enough for her to feel it through her dress, and far more tender than she wanted; but his breath was hot on her neck, and the intensity in his eyes only grew deeper. This tenderness would be fleeting.

Elain rested her hand over his on her hip, “Sometimes. And sometimes it doesn’t.” 

She moved his hand downwards, guiding it to the slit in the side of her dress, helping him find the soft, bare thigh hidden underneath the fabric, only just above where her stocking ended. Once there, he dug his fingers in the soft flesh and nuzzled the back of her neck with his nose. 

“When doesn’t it?” his voice was barely more than a whisper, but he breathed the words into the nape of her neck like an incantation; like a offering laid upon a shrine for a blessing; like a spell he was casting to bring him closer to his desires. She shivered under it all.

“Mmmm,” she murmured and closed her eyes, getting lost in the closeness they now shared. “Sometimes a beast can have his uses. Gentle doesn’t always give me what I crave.”

His mouth moved from her neck to her ear, “And what do you crave?”

He slid his fingers inward between her thighs as he spoke, and she nearly gasped when he slowly stroked the cloth of her smallclothes. She did not make a sound though, and instead, urged him on with her own hand as well.

“Power,” she said huskily. “Dominion. Control.”

Revas’ fingers dipped under her small clothes and found her lower lips within. She focused her gaze on his face in the mirror and let him explore. 

“Who better to give you all those things than a Warlord?” the words were hoarse and smooth all at once, like oil mixed with sand, and they found a dark purchase in her mind where fantasies bloomed as spring blossoms. His finger parted the lips of her cunt as if they were velvety petals on a flower, and then circled around her clit roughly, building a beautiful friction over that maddeningly sensitive part of her. He was so good at this.

“Those things? A Bann might offer them to me, for the right price. Or a Margrave, or…” he pressed himself flush against her roughly and wrapped his free hand around her neck before she could finish. It made her want to melt, but Elain would not give in so easily though. “Or perhaps...a prince.”

“What about this?” he groaned into her ear before pushing her up against the mirror. She laid her hands out on the glass to steady herself and inhaled sharply as his fingers started to move at a blurring pace. Her self control was failing quickly. “Can a Bann do this?”

He tightened the grip around her throat; not enough to constrict her air, but enough to make her hear her pulse pound loudly in her ears, and the pleasure building in her already was simply delicious. Their flirtatious game was barrelling forward like the wind towards what they both wanted. What they always wanted, in the end. She arched her back to push up against him, her body curving to fit his, and already she was dreaming of him lifting her dress and…

“Do you really think a Bann can make you squirm like this?” he asked her before biting down on her neck and sucking masterfully on the delicate skin there. As if by command, she squirmed, just like he said she would. 

But Revas was all heat and swiftness this evening, burning through her like a flame on a wick. Without further preamble, he lifted his hand from her neck, placed it firmly on her backside, and put all his body weight against her, pinning her down now on the mirror. Her cheek was pressed firmly against that glass, and she watched her breath steam next to her face. 

“Can some Margrave do this…” his breath joined hers, the steam rising up, then descending as the glass cooled. Her nails raked at the condensation as he slipped one of his fingers inside of her. “Can he make you this wet?”

Elain’s will disintegrated as if it were dust, as if it were ash, and she moaned lustily at the development. He bit at her ears, her neck, her shoulders...he approved of her relinquishing her ruse of indifference. For a reward, he curled his finger forward inside, stroking that spot in her that made her bones turn to mush. Another moan, and her cheek grew moist from the water droplets that clung to the smooth surface of the mirror.

But he was not finished, it seemed. His other hand pulled the slit at the side of her dress open, exposing her backside, and then slipped down the back of her small clothes. Out of reflex or desire --she couldn’t quite tell--, she opened her legs wider, giving him room to work. 

Revas did not hesitate to put that hand to use. While one expertly fingered her cunt, the other slid over the rim of her ass, circling around it with those deft wrists. Round it went, slowly, precisely, until she was panting, and when she thought she could take no more, it pressed in the center of that rim; not enough to penetrate, though by all the Creators, she truly wish it had. 

Elain’s back arched more and her knee rose and set itself upon the mirror, as if her body had a mind of its own and its own set of pleasures to seek out. It only made him press down his weight more, and her breath came short in that delectable trap he had ensnared her in. 

“And I don’t think a prince could make your body shake with justhis hands,” he gloated over her in a moan. “What do you think?”

Elain could not think, only feel. And everything felt _incredible_. She widened her hand placement on the mirror to leverage herself, then began to swivel and sway her hips, riding his fingers as best she could. Her muscles strained to build up the release she so suddenly desired, but oh, how sweet that release would be. 

Naturally, Revas stopped her. Right when she caught a rhythm that would surely give her what she wanted, he pulled his hands away, because _of course_ he would prevent her from getting off so easily. What a frustrating game they always wove together. 

“Are you going to answer my question?” 

It occurred to her then that Revas thought he had already won. Why wouldn’t he think so, with her going on like a lust-struck fool? Ah, but she wouldn’t deny how willingly should would have given him the victory, if only for a taste of that exquisite liberation his hands could bring. 

But her senses returned, and Elain decided she could not allow him to have it that easily. She would make him work for it. After all, there was nothing Revas loved more than the chase. And she adored being chased. 

“I…” she started softly, and when she did, he teased her through her smallclothes again. So brazen. “I wouldn’t know what they could or could not do me. Perhaps I set out to find an answer.”

He went still at that, and she couldn’t help but quirk her lips into a smile. A hit to his ego-building after such an easy start must feel like a challenge to him. She certainly prayed it would be, at least. It was always so enjoyable to be on the receiving end when he rose to a challenge.

Upon seeing her amusement, Revas grabbed onto her hips and spun her around, knocking her back into the mirror, his body weight still pushing down on her. He rested his forearm above her head, and all but filled the space between them. Their foreheads touched, their noses barely brushing, and their mouths so close, she could smell the scent of the mulled wine they drank together earlier on his breath. What she wouldn’t do to taste it on his tongue as well.

“What’s wrong, Revas?” the words came out sweetly, but there was nothing innocent about her intentions. “Are you afraid someone else may give me what I want better than you can?”

“No,” he cut in immediately, and it only brightened her smile. A little lie. It was something that sat in a dark, deep corner in the back of his mind ever since they were young, she was sure. _Would he be enough? Could he be enough?_ Questions that would plague him whenever it seemed she did not need him. 

“Why not prove it?” her lips ghosted over his when she spoke, a phantom of the kiss they both wanted to share, but neither would cede ground in this game. Instead, she took his hand that hung at his side and led him back under her dress. “Show me how a Warlord would give me what I want.”

He sucked in air between his teeth and groaned, and she felt a familiar sense of satisfaction for winning their little game. It always came down to this; whatever the Maiden wanted, she got. 

Or so she thought.

Revas gently rocked his head back and forth, lips once again barely touching, but still holding back from giving into the desires sleeping just below the surface.

“Eager, eager, _eager,_ ” Revas said lowly as he lifted his hands up and away from her, palms turned outward, holding them at shoulder height as if he were surrendering. “You can’t hide how much you want this.”

The game had not ended, it has merely progressed to the next round. Her heart raced at the prospect. 

“Hmm,” she hummed softly, then reached her hand down between his legs, cupping his cock through the leathers of his ceremonial armor. He groaned under his breath, and her grin was all teeth and mirth when she found how hard he was. “It seems that you can’t either...”

They both stood deathly still in that moment, their breath coming hard between them and their mouths fighting not to touch. She imagined she could hear his heartbeat, thrumming away in his chest like a drum. He wanted to give into her, to touch her, to finish what he started, and she was all too eager to let him. But one of them had to give in first, and Elain would not let it to be her.

“You’re going to beg me before the end of the night,” he rasped out.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He reached up and cupped her chin in his hand, then turned her head away from his face. 

“You,” he pressed his mouth against her ear, “are going to _beg me_ to fuck you before the end of the night.”

Though she tried to stop herself from responding, shivers ran down her spine at the words, and her knees felt weak, ready to let go under the weight of her desire. Still, she could not let him see her enjoying herself too much. Prolonging this torture seemed a much more...interesting path to take.

Elain pushed him off of her gently and smoothed down her dress again, before walking to her vanity to put the finishing touches on her ensemble. 

“You can certainly try,” she said as she pinned up the heavy braid she had woven her hair into earlier. “Just remember that you are competing with Banns, Margraves, and Princes, Shem’assan.”

With a shake of his head, he approached her and reached over her towards her Mantle sitting on its stand. She turned her back to him and stood motionless as he draped the holy relic around her shoulders. Gently, he turned her around to face him again, and helped her secure the Mantle in place with its golden hare pin.

“I don’t _have_ competition,” he finally said, then took a moment to look her over. “Creators, how do you always look this beautiful?”

Elain pulled out her ankle-length boots with the tapered wooden heels from under the stool in front of the vanity. Revas held out his hand so she could balance herself as she slipped them on. One foot up, then the other, until she stood taller, her legs straining slightly from the height of the heel. 

“The same way you are you so sure you don’t have competition: _confidence_ ,” she said firmly as she glanced at herself in the mirror once more before they would make their way to the grand hall hosting the party. A nearly perfect image stared back, if not for an unsightly bruise beginning to show on her neck. 

“Look at this.” Elain pointed to the bruise.

He leaned in closer to her neck, “Yeah? Did you forget what we were just doing?”

She rubbed the spot, then sighed, “What will my Prince think when he sees it?”

“Probably think someone got you all warmed up for him,” he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the tip of her nose. “And ‘ _how could I ever measure up to that_?’”

She shot him a pointed look, “If this brutish Warlord keeps marking my skin in places where everyone can see, my prince just may get his chance to try.”

It earned a laugh out of him, “He’ll have to fight through me first.”

“That can be arranged,” she began to walk towards the door leading out into the hall of the guest suite, motioning for him to join her. “I can tell him all your weaknesses.”

His boots hit the marble floor behind her, “Ha! What weaknesses?”

Elain paused; then, with great care, hiked up the skirts of her dress waist up over her hips. Once freed from the confines of the dress, she slid her fingers into her smallclothes and slipped them down her waist. She shimmied her hips until the dropped neatly onto the floor of the room. And in one swift motion, she looked over her shoulder at Revas with half-lidded eyes, then moved her discarded smallclothes out of her way with the tip of her foot. 

Without another word, she pulled her dress back down over her hips, smoothed out all the wrinkles, then resumed walking towards the exit. For a moment, it was just the _click click_ of her shoes hitting the floor, but it wasn’t long before she heard his footsteps following again, close enough this time she could feel his breath on the back of her shoulders.

She smiled to herself at the victory.

“No fair making me watch that, Peach,” he confided as he held open the door for her. She walked through gracefully, letting her fingers graze his outer thigh as she did.

“Everything is fair in love and war, ma lath,” her voice was as sweet as honey. 

“I guess this is war then,” he held out his arm for her, and she hooked hers around it, reveling in the closeness of the gesture. “Bad idea starting one with a Warlord. You’re going to lose.”

“That remains to be seen,” she leaned into him, setting her head on his shoulder. 

“When I have you screaming my name later, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hmm,” she gave him a soft laugh. “There’s that confidence again. I cannot wait to see it broken under my heel.”

“You’re going to be waiting a long time to see that,” he teased back. 

“So many words tonight. Maybe I’ll be more inclined to believe you when you actually do something,” she gave him a fake yawn, but he merely snorted his amusement at the challenge.

The music was growing louder as they progressed down the hall, and guests of the inaugural event started to come into their vision. Clusters of finely dressed shemlen, chatting happily over glasses of wine, waiting for the Union to arrive so they could crane their necks and bring gossip back to their respective inner circles.

“This is your last chance to back down, Revas,” she said quietly as they passed a man discussing Antivan imports with a bored looking noblewoman. “There’s no shame in admitting defeat before your betters.”

He shook his head with a smile, “I’ll remember that line later when I have you pressed up against a wall.”

Her heart raced in her chest as they entered the main hall of the palace, and she felt a swell of excitement she had not entertained in quite some time. What an _interesting_ evening this was turning out to be.

“Let the games begin, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain begins her search for her prince and gets the upperhand.

It was nearly comical how, despite their obvious distaste, Free Marchers truly did invite their Orlesian cousins to every event they could. Perhaps it was a way to catch the Emperor’s eye, or make nice with the Chantry, but the strange mumblings of how fickle those southern upstarts were whispered into the cups of the who’s who of the Marcher cities while they wined and dined them amused Elain to no end. 

Or perhaps it was the wining and dining she was partaking in herself. Maybe it all seemed so much more fun when it wasn’t the clan’s stores being emptied. The gossip and the fretting and the drama of it all had a grander appeal when there wasn’t a future famine to worry about.

And maybe that’s why she engaged so freely with it as well. Cup after cup of wine sweetened with honey; tiny cakes sprinkled with fresh berries and cream beaten until it peaked like a mountain; oysters fresh from the bay doused in pepper oil and eaten right out of the shell. She sucked out the flesh while noblemen and women alike gawked and squawked like riled up birds, and her amusement made her blood flow warm.

It flowed even warmer as she caught glimpses of Revas following her wherever she went, locking eyes with her when she least expected it, brushing against her when she most wanted it. They danced their little dance, while they ate and drank and rubbed elbows with the greatest houses the Free Marches had to offer, listening to their mumblings about shifty Orlesians and sharing secret looks of bemusement between them at the absurdity of it all. 

They still played their game, as well. The rules were old, and they knew them as well as they knew each other’s secrets, but coupling it with a larger game that the nobility liked to play add a layer of thrill to it that Elain had not expected. There were new rules to learn, new paths to take to ultimately win, and she planned on taking that prize. 

And if it meant listening to another attempt from a dull noble to woo her in the presence of Revas, she had no qualms about using it to her advantage.

“Have you seen the countryside outside of Starkhaven in the spring, my dear?” a noble in the great hall had caught her into a conversation, and she gladly sipped her wine and carried it on, deciding whether or not he’d make a good conquest in this war. He was middle aged and stout, with a neatly trimmed beard and sharply-tailored, if humble, clothing. A minor nobleman, at best, but an estate was an estate, and her war game needed a pawn to play. 

“Yes, my Lord. The sight of their dew-covered wildflowers in bloom as the sun rises is one of my most beloved memories.” She smiled widely when she answered, then sipped her wine from the silver goblet she had been offered. From over the edge of her cup, she watched Revas looming behind the man, trying his best to seem focused on the conversation he was having with a guardsman and not her. When she caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, it was clear his best was not good enough.

Such a simple move to make in this game, and she already got a response from her opponent. She sipped her wine again.

“Ah, of course,” the noble’s voice rumbled in its approval with her reply. “I imagine you would see it at the dawn, what with your travels. Why, when I was a young man, I waited until my lessons were over, then avoided any duty I could by running and hiding in those same fields. One evening, as the sun set and the hearths were starting to be lit in my ancestral hall, I saw a caravan of strange wagons crossing in the forest.”

“Oh?”

He nodded vigorously, and his neck rippled as he did, “Yes, yes. Dalish, I believe. Perhaps even your family. We were always taught not to get to close though, as they like to take blood if you step over the invisible boundaries they have.” The noble stopped, then eyed her carefully. “I don’t suppose you’ve taken blood? You look a much too delicate of a creature to engage in any of that mindless savagery.”

“I could never do such a thing,” she said innocently, her voice pitched higher to fit the image of her he had already spun in his mind. “Why, I am frightened to even think of having to see another person’s blood!” 

Revas grinned and shook his head from behind the criminally boring oaf, but the nobleman’s suspicious look evaporated immediately, and was replaced by something gentler, yet still probing. 

“Oh of course, my dear, of course. A little doe such as yourself wouldn’t harm a ladybug, I’m sure,” he was slightly flustered. Elain loosened her smile, making it smaller, but more intimate. A special treat just for him. He swallowed deeply, “Have you traveled here all on your own?”

“No, I had an escort. The roads to Wycome are no place for a Dalish maid to travel alone, and my innocence must be preserved.” She said gravely, then heard a disembodied snort come from Revas.

But the noble was concerned with her innocence, naturally, and made a small step towards her. She caught his eyes into a gaze and held it there while he spoke, “Too right, too right. There are brutes out there waiting to prey on pretty young elves like you.”

She sighed dramatically, “Oh, I know! Even my escort is a beast of a man with eyes that can’t hide his intentions…” Elain closed her eyes for a moment, and conjured the will to let them water up. When she opened them again, they glistened with fresh tears. “It’s so hard to know who to trust in this human world.”

The nobleman’s face turned an unsightly red, like an overripe fruit; a sign of her tricks making their impact. He reached over and took a loose strand of her hair in between his thick fingers, “Oh sweet deer, sweet deer. Do not fret. I shall have this awful escort thrown in stocks and carry you home myself!”

Elain covered her mouth gently with her fingers, trying her very best to mimic a sincere blush, “Oh, I couldn’t accept your help, my lord. What would your peers think? Or…” she let a small gasp escape, “What would my parents say? A strange human carrying me home!”

“Darling, darling deer! Not so strange, if you’d let me properly take care of this,” he argued, then snapped his fingers to get the attention of a nearby servant in his court. 

“Yes, Lord Whitman?”

The nobleman turned his frame away from her and whispered something in the ear of his servant. Revas watched the exchange with a stern look on his face, but she merely smirked and drank from her cup once more. 

“Do you understand?” the nobleman asked his servant. The servant nodded.

“Yes, Lord Whitman. Right away,” and he was off like rabbit, sprinting towards the task his lord has entrusted him with.

“Never you fear, little deer, I shall handle all of this,” Whitman assured her when he returned to their conversation. “Now, let us not be strangers. Tell me your name.”

Elain lowered her gaze and gave a small curtsey, a fetching little display he was sure to love in all its innocence, “My name is Ellana, my Lord.”

“And I am Roggart. Roggart Whitman of the Sunhall Whitmans, vassals to the Vaels of Starkhaven,” he bowed at the waist when he formally introduced himself. “Truly, it is a pleasure to meet someone as sweet as you.”

“You flatter me, my Lord.” She giggled this time, and he smiled in return, thinking he had already caught his prey. How simple these shemlen were.

“Truth is not flattery, my darling deer,” he touched the tip of her nose in a gentle jest. “And the truth is, amongst all these vultures and varghasts, you are like honey on a comb. Tell me, what is a precious thing like you doing in this snake pit?”

Before she could open her mouth to string this fool along further, another noble waved his hand jovially from a few steps away. 

“Roggart, you demon! I haven’t seen you in an age! How is your wife?”

Whitman’s face turned an even deeper red, as if all the blood in his body rushed to it all at once and he turned to his distractor, “Ah, Ser Briar! Good to see you. I will be with you in a moment and tell you all about her.”

Ser Briar looked between Whitman and Elain, sizing up the situation, and nodded his head slowly in understanding. With a wink and nudge of his arm, he turned heel and walked to a nearby table where other nobles drank and made merry. Whitman watched him walk away, and Elain noticed that Revas was no longer pretending to be in conversation with the guardsman nearby. 

So, he’d begun his hunt. She bit the inside of her lower lip to contain her look of approval.

“My deer, precious deer,” Whitman grabbed her hands as if he were a lovestruck youth, clasping them in his clammy fingers. “I must go about my business this evening and make proper hospitality with my fellows. You understand, yes?”

“Yes,” she started slowly, lowering her voice to feign disappointment. “I’m sure you have many happy stories about your wife to tell them. She is surely the luckiest woman in the Free Marches to have a man who cares so much.”

“Her? Oh sweet deer, she’s as flat as a wooden plank. Marriages in noble families are for convenience, not love. No story I could come up with for her would ever measure up to the beauty of you just standing right here in front of me.”

“Oh,” lower still, then add a bit of melancholy. Clench her hands tighter around his, but ever so slightly. Creators, how easy this one was. “How awful. I could not imagine being with someone I did not love. Where is the passion? The devotion?”

Whitman pulled her fingers up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. A common courtesy among nobles, but she noted how much more tenderly he had bestowed that courtesy than others had, “You needn’t be married to have those things, sweet deer. When a man cares for a woman, they need only each other.”

“It still seems so wretched. I would want someone who only had eyes for me. No other concerns but me,” she lowered her gaze and laughed softly. “You must think me a naive girl to want these things.”

He showered her hands in kisses now. Most definitely not out of courtesy, “Not at all, my deer, my doe. It is no less than you deserve.”

“You are too kind, my Lord.”

“Roggart,” he whispered. “Call me Roggart.”

Elain smiled coyly, “Roggart.”

“Yes, it is so good to hear it come from that lovely throat of yours,” his voice was still lowered, and quickly, he looked over his shoulder to make sure there were no prying eyes on them. “I must leave you now my little deer, but I want you to wait for me tonight. I have a gift I want to share with you.”

“A gift?”

He nodded, “Yes, a gift. And should you enjoy it, I shall shower you with more, until you are drowning in my affection.”

“You are too kind to me, Roggart. I do not deserve all of this. I’m only an elf--”

Whitman put one finger up to her lips, “Shhh, quiet those thoughts. Elven maids are not uncommon in Sunhills, but none I have seen could measure up to your sweetness. Now, be my good little deer and promise me you’ll wait.”

Elain smiled, allowing her teeth to barely peek through her lips. A subtle hint of danger and intrigue in the naive girl she played.

“I promise.”

“Good girl,” he tapped her cheek as if she were a puppy, then spun around and made his way to the table where Ser Briar had made himself comfortable. 

Once he was gone, Elain drained the rest of her wine and set her cup down on the floor next to the marble pillar she had been backed up against with this silk-wearing dog. She huffed out a deep sigh, then slipped behind the pillar and into a secluded hallway that led to the palace’s gallery. 

It was a short hall, completely empty but for some scarce decoration and a dim, moody candelabra hanging from the high ceiling. Both walls were lined with velvet covered benches, leading all the way to the bright red doors that opened up to the art and statues of the previous regime that had been saved. Elain reached out and brushed her fingers against the stone walls as she walked, hoping their cool, marble surface would make her forget the moist feeling of Whitman’s mouth on her knuckles. 

And then she heard his boots. He could be quiet when he wanted to be, nearly silent if the circumstances permitted, but these steps were deliberate. Slow. Calculated. And they were alone in this hall. No more throngs of people interrupting. Elain paused, pressed her palm against the wall, then raised her chin slightly to look over her shoulder.

“Another suitor for me?”

“The _only_ suitor for you,” Revas replied softly. His hands were tucked behind his back, and he looked on her as if she were as easy to see through as glass. “Or did you forget?”

“I could never forget.”

He inhaled deeply, then leaned against the wall where her palm still sat, “Then what was that all about?”

“Oh, you mean Whitman?” Elain grinned at him. “A boorish shem, isn’t he?”

“Definitely not your type,” he returned her grin. “ _Preserve my innocence_ , though? Really?”

“If only he knew,” she laughed. “Why the concern? Are you jealous?”

He laughed now too, loudly. “Of him? Are you kidding?”

“Completely serious.”

“He’s not even a Bann, Elain. You’ve got to aim higher than the likes of him to get me worked up.”

“Not a Bann, but a vassal to the Vaels of Starkhaven,” she replied matter-of-factly. 

“And?”

“And, the head of the Vael family is Sebastian Vael.”

“That’s supposed to mean something to me?” he asked defensively. 

“Sebastian Vael is the Prince of Starkhaven,” her grin grew wider. “I need only climb this ladder to reach my prince.”

“Oh yeah?” Revas took her wrist in his hand gently and turned her around to face him. “You know the only way to climb over men like that is on your back, right?”

They faced each other now, their bodies close enough to touch and be touched, and Elain suddenly felt quite warm. The fire they had stoked earlier had still not gone out in her, and being alone in this hallway with him was like feeding it more wood. She was struck with how much she wanted to lay her hands upon him, to explore him, to remind him why he should work for this. 

So she did.

She laid her palm on his chest, then let it slide down his body slowly, and spoke with a voice full of promise, “It need not always on my back. On my knees, my stomach, my hip...maybe I could even end up on top.I am _quite_ flexible.”

“I doubt _Lord Whitman_ would appreciate a Dalish maid doing anything but laying still while he mounted her like a dog,” he watched her hand a crawled down his body. “Then, when her innocence is defiled, he’ll toss her out like scrap meat and move onto the next. Men like him are always like that.”

“Men like him?” she nearly purred the words as she found his belt and loosened it. It occurred to her anyone could merely walk down this hall and see her. A wandering guest or another couple trying to find some solitude for their own games could stumble upon them and expose their game. It did not deter her; if anything, it only excited her more. 

“Noble shems. Men who don’t understand what _no_ means.” The belt was undone now, and they were still dangerously close to the party. It would be all too easy to be caught in a compromising situation with so many people here. Somehow, that danger made her only want it more. 

“Ah, but who says I won’t give him what he wants willingly, hmm? How else will I ensnare my prince?” 

She shoved her hand down his leathers to find what he had so rudely teased her with earlier that night. When her prize was in her hand, she glanced only briefly to make sure they weren’t being watched, then began stroking him lightly. When his cock began to grow stiff from her skilled touch, she felt the exhilaration of danger, intrigue. Revas was the one who started this, but now, it was him who was backed up against the wall, him at the mercy of her touch. And at any moment, some hanger-on could waltz right in and see him coming undone for her.

Her thighs nearly clenched together of their own accord at the thought.

But he said nothing, and instead, breathed heavily while staring at her face, his brows furrowed in what could almost be despair. Elain knew him though, knew his wants and thoughts. It was all part of the game. 

“You _are_ jealous, aren’t you?” she lowered her voice for him. He would not respond to the childish naivety like the noble had. “Are you upset that he could give me something you couldn’t?”

The question seemed to break his threadbare self-control, and he threw his hand behind her head and smashed his mouth against hers. She groaned at the development, then began to stroke him faster, becoming infinitely pleased with herself as it came alive in her hand.

But his kiss was hard and unrelenting, nearly taking her breath away. There was a fire in it she couldn’t deny, and it stoked its own flames in her chest, warming her, filling her with its life. When he finally broke that kiss, they were both panting. 

“He could try for a thousand years and never give you what I can,” he croaked out before devouring her again, shoving his tongue into her willing mouth.

It was a desperate thing, this kiss, and as with most desperate things, it was full of a fight. There was no softness, no patience and time-taken, only a frantic seeking of resolution, of validation. His teeth bumped into hers feverishly and his tongue seemed to fill her entire mouth, making it hard to even breathe. She was tempted to give into it, to let them both have what they wanted. It would be so easy.

But his desperation in that kiss only gave her a taste of victory she so wanted to have that evening, though. It was simply not enough to make him jealous; she wanted to him to rise to the occasion, to prove his words weren’t just words. Accepting his defeat now would not leave her as fulfilled as she could be.

And besides...the game was turning out to be far too fun to let it finish now.

Elain pulled away from his mouth, “So you keep saying. I’ve yet to see you do anything to show me the truth in that.”

“You want me to show you right here?” she could feel his voice vibrating from deep in his chest, and his hands grabbed onto her ass roughly, pulling her closer up against him. "You want me to make you scream in front of all these people?”

“Oh, you think you could?” she challenged him before nipping at his bottom lip. “I think it would be the other way around.”

He shook his head and smiled again against her mouth, “We both know you’re the one who can’t keep her voice down.”

“And alert all these guest to the naughty things I’m doing to you? I don’t think so,” she tightened her grip on his cock, making him gasp loudly. “You say I need you to give me all these things, but I am beginning to disagree. I think I give you far, far…” a pause, before she slid her other hand into his leathers, working his cock over with both of them now, “... _far_ more than you could ever give me.”

Revas closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall with a moan, and Elain was nearly giddy at her triumph. She had him cornered, unable to answer her, unwilling to take back control. His fingers dug into her flesh with want and his cheeks blushed brightly as she built him up with just her hands. 

“You’re…” he started, but bit his lip when she sped up her stroking again. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Yes?” she whispered into his neck before placing soft kisses there. “You were saying?”

“You’re going to lo--”

The sound of heels hitting the marble floors leading into the hallway interrupted them. Elain went dead still at the sound, holding her breath in a frigid fear. But her heart still beat wildly and her body still ached for more, despite it all. It was Revas who had to push her off him and quickly adjust himself in his leathers and secure his belt. Her hands were still held outward, as if she’d forgotten she was supposed to pull them back.

“And I told them how important it was to secure the art, naturally. The new Minister was receptive, but the amount of blowback from the merchants was infuriating. These Marchers really have no appreciation…”

The person the voice was coming from entered the hall through the marble pillars and stopped when she saw Elain and Revas standing awkwardly near the wall at the end of the hall. She recognized her.

It was Lady Volant.

“Maiden! What a pleasant surprise!” Volant’s smile was like a beam of sunligh in the moody hall, and the crisp sound of the heels of her and her entourage’s shoes across the floor as they walked towards them were like a chorus. Revas cleared his throat and stepped further away from her.

Elain bowed her head slightly at their interloper, “Lady Volant, I did not expect to see you here.”

“Of course I am here, cherie. I have many investments to protect, and I do enjoy keeping my hands in these affairs directly,” she stopped with her group in front of them and leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek in greeting. Elain returned the kiss politely. “Where is your baby? Have you brought him to this event too?”

She shook her head, “No, he is staying with his grandmother in Autini. We didn’t think it would be proper to bring him to something like this.”

Volant’s smile was still bright, and now, her eyes glittered in amusement, “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be. And even if it were, I would assume you’d want to have the time alone. Privacy is so hard with young children.”

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Somehow she knew that Volant was aware of what she had walked in on, and the rush of it made her feel exposed. 

“Ah, but enough with pleasantries. Would you like to join us in a tour of the gallery?” Volant went on without pausing, and the group of women following her looked on with wide, curious eyes. 

“Well, we were just about to--”

“ _Of course_ you’ll join us,” she interrupted her, and with a flick of her wrist, she instructed them all to follow her. Volant approached the great red doors leading into the gallery and pushed them open effortlessly. “Now, come inside and we’ll have our introductions. And after, you simply must see the Rodal piece, Maiden. Done by elven hands with such grace, you would hardly believe it! And I believe there is a Montriane work as well, it is _exquisite_ …”

Volant’s entourage followed her into the gallery dutifully while the Lady herself kept rambling on about all the art she wanted them to see. Elain sighed and went to follow behind, but was stopped by a hand on her arm. 

Revas leaned in over her shoulder and whispered hoarsely in her ear, “We’re not done yet.”

She looked at him expectantly, but he let go of her arm and gave her ass a knowing squeeze before he entered the gallery behind the gaggle of women trailing Volant like baby geese. The blush in her cheeks did not dissipate, but now, burned and spread to her ears. Such a little thing, and such a large reaction already. She was positively giddy. 

With her heart beating faster and her body aching for more of this game, Elain followed closely behind, knowing full well that he would not give in as easy as he had again.

The first battle had gone to her, but Revas was preparing for war.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elain learns turn about is fair play; Revas has a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lapse in between chapters! I've two more to go and this one is done. Hopefully can make it in time for Valentine's Day :)

The gallery was quite grand for being so hidden away from the rest of the Nacre Palace. It lacked windows, and like the hall that led to it, was very dimly lit There were iron-wrought sconces skirting the edges of the rooms, but none of them were near the paintings that hung on the wall. 

What surprised Elain was the sheer amount of paintings there actually were. The gallery itself was three interlinked rooms, each the size of a private library, connected by short corridors. The first room they walked was simply inundated with art; no patch of wall was left uncovered by paintings, and each wall held an impressive amount of alcoves in which statues resided. She wondered if the other rooms were equally filled.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Lady Volant asked the little touring group. “What so few people know is that the Pearl of the Free Marches also happens to be the largest importer of fine art in Thedas. Nearly every piece here was bought and purchased from artists in all parts of the world to be displayed for visitors to see.”

“Incredible,” Elain breathed out, and the women who accompanied Lady Volant made _oohs_ and _aahs_ to properly convey their awe. There were only five of them, with one being older, like Volant herself, and the remaining three closer to her own age. Though, they lacked the obvious signs of aging she had endured from a life of work, with their porcelain skin and soft hands. 

“Which ones weren’t purchased, aunt Violette?” 

It was a slender waif of a woman who asked, one of the younger ones, wearing her white silk gown that clung to her body like a second skin. Her complexion was pale and unblemished, her hair flaxen and light, her eyes a striking violet. She was of noble blood, naturally, with her pink cheeks and jewels woven into her hair. The wealth and privilege wrapped around her like a cloak, and though she had directed her question to the Lady Volant, it was Elain and Revas who she had set her eyes on. 

“The ones freely given as gifts for patronage,” Volant explained, never turning her own eyes off the walls that were decorated so lushly. “Or as gifts for lovers. Some were even spoils from conquest, passed down through generations of families. The history here is as varied as the pieces themselves.”

The slender woman cleared her throat pointedly, getting Volant’s attention off the walls and back onto her. 

“Oh of course, where are my manners?” the Lady apologized. “This is my niece, Lady Alena Des Jardins au Jadar, youngest of Duke Herve Des Jardins and Duchess Margot. Alena, this is the Maiden of the Hunt of Clan Lavellan and elven Ambassador in the North to the Inquisition; and beside her, Warlord of Clan Lavellan.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Elain greeted her with a short curtsey with her hands set just below her belly--the Orlesian way. Alena returned the gesture.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” her voice was clear and true, like a bell, with a delicate accent. Everything about her was beautiful, and Elain did not doubt she would be quite the cherished political piece in her parents’ home. “I’ve heard a great many stories about your work here in Wycome. My aunt tells me you have a natural talent for the art of the Grand Game.”

“You honor me, my Lady, though I would not call my talent _natural_ ,” she replied humbly. “We Dalish are not without our own political machinations. My skills come from experience, not chance.”

Though Alena’s demeanor did not change, there was still a small shift; the corners of her mouth receded from their smile ever so slightly, and the brightness in the eyes seemed to dull just a bit. She had already become bored with the conversation.

“Henrietta, dear, you must see this,” Lady Volant’s voice overflowed into their conversation as she spoke to the other middle-aged woman in the group. “A statue of Andraste done by none other than Yves Ilone.”

“Splendid,” the other woman, Henrietta, said with a light, almost frivolous voice. “Ah, he really is a master with quartz.”

“Of course he is,” Volant said. “No other fool would have the mind to use it. Here, let me show you his apprentice’s piece. I think you’ll appreciate how he keeps Ilone’s methods while using more traditional mediums, like a man who actually cares to hold a patron….”

The tour group began to pace the first room of the hall, talking amongst themselves as Lady Volant and Lady Henrietta commented on every piece in the gallery. Elain was content for a few minutes to just listen, but quickly lost the appeal when she had to hear about yet another Orlesian and his methods of mixing pigments. 

“Your armor is lovely. Do you wear it everywhere?”

Lady Alena had found her way between Elain and Revas somehow, leaning in and whispering directly to him. He had been silent the whole time, obviously not interested in any of what was going on, and her question seemed to catch him off guard. 

“Oh,” he said stiffly. “Most of the time.”

Her eyes seemed to catch that light again, and the flames of the candles illuminating the gallery seemed to flicker on their violet surfaces. “I suppose as Warlord, you must. Do you see much war yourself?”

“Uh, depends on what you think war is,” he responded. “The Dalish are always fighting though, and they need leaders to make sure they’re not dying too.”

“Is that what you do? Make sure they don’t die?”

“Sometimes,” he replied stoically. 

“Were you here in Wycome during the troubles?” she probed him further. There was a twinge of intrigue in her voice, along with a wholly unsolicited warmth, and it grated on Elain’s nerves. 

“Yeah. I led the warband that stormed the palace during the siege.”

Alena seemed to like the answer, and she clasped her hands together tightly.

“You were the one!” she whispered loudly. “Oh, I’ve heard so many stories about you! Back in Jadar, the bards call you ‘ _Le Chasseur’_ \-- The Hunter. Is it true you swung over the moat surrounding the palace’s walls on a chain?”

“A chain? No,” he stated flatly, but then, his mouth opened up to a sly smile. “I jumped it by catching onto the drawbridge as they were pulling it up.”

Alena’s clasped hands flew up to her mouth in excitement, and Elain’s hands clenched into fists at her waist. She didn’t like how eager this upstart was to flatter her partner.

“Incredible! You must be very strong,” she moved in closer to him. “Oh, how silly of me! You Dalish specialize in longbows, of course you’d need to be strong to use them!”

“ _I can’t believe they hang that scoundrel up amongst the others here. Such a shameful display!_ ” Volant’s disgusted comments rung throughout the conversation. Elain tried to pay attention, but she found herself all too curious with what Lady Alena had to say...and the breathy wonder in which she said it.

“We use short bows too. And standard weapons you’d see humans with. Axes, swords, spears, daggers...” he corrected her gently. “I prefer the bow though. The skill involved is more rewarding. It’s one thing to swing an axe and cut a tendon on an opponent; that’s easy. All you need is leverage and force. It’s another thing entirely to hit him in the eye from fifty yards.”

“Oh, monsieur!” she exclaimed so prettily, then lightly touched Revas’ shoulder. Elain ground her teeth together. “Can you really do that with your bow?”

Revas flashed her a grin, “Absolutely. It looks much more impressive in person though.”

She got closer to him, as if Elain was not even there, “I would love to see that, if you could believe it. It might liven up this whole affair. These soirees are always so boring, don’t you think?”

“I’ve never been to a human party before, but I think I like Dalish celebrations betters. There’s lots of singing and dancing and drinking and kissing,” he explained, looking at Elain meaningfully from the corner of his eye. “And a lot less talking about art.”

If Alena’s eyes glittered before, they shone like the sun now. “That sounds so much more fun than this. I love all of those things!”

“Even the kissing?” 

“If it’s the right person? Most certainly,” she said softly, barely enough for Elain to hear. 

“Well, maybe I’ll have to show you a Dalish party sometime then,” if Revas’ grin was sly before, it was positively wicked now, and a hot rage blazed inside Elain’s chest. Under no circumstances would he invite some _shemlen prat_ to a Dalish celebration. He was just stringing this porcelain doll around as revenge against her dealings with Lord Whitman, and if there was one thing she hated, it was being challenged in her own game.

But the fine Lady was taken by his charms and sighed dreamily, “I would adore that.”

Revas held his arm out expectantly, “Can you show me some of this art? And make it less boring?”

She laughed sweetly at that, and her cheeks flushed to a dark pink, “I don’t know if could make any of this less boring.”

“Don’t be so modest...you already have.”

Elain winced at the brazen display, but Revas had managed to catch his prey with the same ease as she had ensnared hers. It seemed he was catching on with how to play to his strengths and swallow his stubbornness for the sake of a win. That simply wouldn’t do.

But before she could intrude and turn the tide of their game back in her favor, with the delicate ease of a human that had seen not even a piece of ash from a burning world, Lady Alena gently hooked her arm with Revas’. 

\---

They walked slightly apart from Lady Volant and the gaggle of the rest of the women, speaking lowly between themselves, but Elain hung behind so she would not miss anything. She caught words of derision over the gaudiness of a statue or the outlandish outfits depicted in some painting, with Revas smirking like a fool and Alena giggling like an even bigger fool. She picked under her nails and shifted her weight between her feet as each moment passed and more giggles could be heard over the droning of Volant.

“Alena dear, we’re approaching what I wanted to show you!” Volant called cheerfully as they reached the end of the first room of the gallery. She pointed to an alcove just off the hallway leading into the second chamber. She pulled back the heavy velvet curtain acting as a door to the room, and the entire group stepped into the small space, barely enough to fit all of them. Volant squeezed past them and walked up to the wall holding another velvet curtain, this one a deep purple and hanging from the ceiling itself. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the golden cord holding it, and it opened up, revealing the painting hidden behind it. 

It was a young women, with rosy pink cheeks, white blonde hair pulled back in intricate curls, glittering violet eyes, and lips painted with such care, Elain swore she’d be able to feel how plush and moist they’d be if she reached up and touched them. She was covered in a voluminous, yet surprisingly sheer dress, lounging lazily on an opulent chaise. The viewers could see every part of her, from her shapely legs to her breasts the color of milk, spattered with a pink blush even more delicate than the one gracing her cheeks.

Elain rolled her eyes. All these shemlen looked alike.

“See? She is the splitting image of you!” 

Lady Alena gasped and her ladies-in-waiting making up the entourage whispered excitedly, “It does look like you, my Lady!”

“Who is she?” Alena’s awe couldn’t be hidden from the rasp in her voice. 

“A mistress of one of the former Dukes here. Her true name is lost, but as a play on the city’s title, she was called _The Pearl of Wycome_ ,” Volant explained. “It was said she was a great beauty that many suitors had fought and died over, but in the end, it was the Duke’s wealth and power that hushed all those who would ask her hand. She was adored by her lover so much, all the faces of the women carved in marble here in Wycome are said to be her.”

“What a wonder,” the younger woman breathed out, then looked to Revas from the corner of her eye. “To be loved so much...it’s all I could ever hope for.” 

Elain seethed at her daring, her utmost disrespect. Did she truly think she meant something to Revas? Did she truly think he was intrigued by her game of being the blushing bride waiting for her true love? Elain knew these shem women were no better than their husbands and fathers and sons, and she knew no noble lady of a prominent house in Orlais would think anything could come of an affair with a Dalish elf. She wanted one thing and one thing only. 

There was no one here who didn’t play the game.

Volant patted her niece’s shoulder gently, “There, there. You are just as beautiful as she, and will no doubt find a proper suitor to commission the greatest artists to immortalize you.”

“Whatever happened to the Pearl of Wycome?” her eyes darted between the painting that so resembled her and Revas standing next to her, waiting for any reaction from him to indicate he’d taken some bait. Such children these shemlen were!

“Oh, she died at the hands of a mob when the Duke emptied the city’s coffers to enrich her,” Volant said as if it was the most mundane thing in the world. “Marble statues don’t fill empty bellies, my dear.”

“How awful,” Alena lamented sadly, then inched closer to Revas, her arm tightening around him. “Don’t you think that’s awful, Warlord?”

“I’m Dalish. Hunger is something very real to us,” he said flatly. “Anyone who ignores it deserves to be punished.”

“It should not be a sentiment just among the Dalish,” Elain saw her chance to undermine the ingenue and took it. “Any leader who doesn’t understand justice, does not deserve to lead.” 

Lady Volant nodded at her assessment. “Let it be a lesson for you: one must always satisfy the rabble before you satisfy the flesh.”

“Yes, Aunt Violette,” she said humbly, though she sounded far from convinced. Elain herself knew it was a good lesson, one that every child needed to be taught, she supposed, but also one she had herself never heeded. When the satisfaction of flesh was so...enjoyable, how could one ever care about what others thought of it when caught in the moment? 

She smiled to herself. An obvious projection on her part. Of course she would justify the satisfaction of flesh. Had she not thrown her entire life away to it? Was she not still chasing that craving for it when it suited her best? And didn’t it suit her right now to remind Revas that she was no simpering, fragile thing still dreaming of true love?

Elain’s smile only grew as the cogs in her mind turned and moved towards delicious treats for her to look forward to that evening.

“Come along now, I have many more pretty women who lured their lovers to bad decisions to show you,” Volant said wryly before exiting the room. The group followed closely behind, Alena with her head dipped down now, and Elain with hers held slightly higher. 

But her victory was not yet complete. There was still the matter of Revas. She reached out and grabbed onto the bicep of his arm gently. 

“Can I speak to you?” she asked quietly. Alena turned to her head to see why he had paused, but his eyes did not leave Elain’s face. “Privately.”

“Something important?” he asked her lowly. She squeezed his arm tighter..

“Important, but not dire. I was reminded of a clan matter during the conversation about the painting.”

“Come along, Alena!” Lady Volant called to her niece as the group moved into the next chamber full of the history of the nobility in Wycome. Alena looked between Revas and Elain, as if she was weighing their intentions.

Elain tried her best to project on her face the most intimidating looks she could. _Yes, I am planning on taking him from you, though he was never yours to have. Try your best to dissuade him. It will not be enough._

“Are you taking your leave, Warlord?” the strain in her voice was only the slightest bit audible, but Elain could hear it as loud and clear as a bird in spring.

“Uh, for now, I guess,” he answered easily. “I have a duty to attend to. I can maybe catch up with you later?”

Alena’s eyes were crestfallen, but her mouth held a steady smile. The consummate lady. “That would be lovely. Shall I approach you once our tour has finished?”

“Sure.”

“Then I shall see you again soon, Warlord,” she answered huskily, a far cry from the blushing virgin she had played upon earlier. Elain saw right through the ruse, of course. She’d been playing that game while Lady Alena was still being dressed and fed by her nursemaid. There was simply no competition.

When they were left alone, she turned to Revas and saw him smirking at her. 

“Is there something entertaining you, Warlord?” her words were sickly sweet, mimicking the departed lady. “Whatever it may be, I would find great joy in participating in it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m just enjoying seeing you frown over every word the lady said,” he replied cheekily. “I swear, I thought your face was going to get stuck like that.”

Elain closed her eyes and willed her mind to have peace. He was trying to get a rise out of her. She could not let him. There was still a game to win.

“Over a brutish Warlord giving attention to a naive little girl who imagines herself dancing barefoot in the forest?” Her face split into a grin. “I think not. My face must be bright and adoring when I meet my prince, in any case. I shall not let the likes of you change that.”

Revas wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer into him, “Oh, but the things I could show that barefoot lady in the forest. Her shoes wouldn’t be the only thing lost and long forgotten.”

“Please. She would bore you to death.”

“And Lord Whitman wouldn’t bore you? At least Lady Alena would have some stamina to keep up with me.”

“I pity you if you think her bent over in a hayloft of a stable on her father’s estates would require any amount _stamina_.”

He didn’t move his face, but instead, took the tip of his index finger and slid it down the length of her throat, then to her chest, until he reached the hem at the top of her dress. Once there, he curled his finger inside the fabric and jerked her forward. In their closeness, she could feel his breath against her lips. She shuddered at the heat that it ignited deep within her.

“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong,” he whispered into her ear, making her eyes flutter. “She could do that with any peasant working her father’s land. A lady like her wants the _whole_ experience. Deep in the woods, just her and the forbidden love, and all her problems in a far off land while she lets me strip every last piece of her privilege away. It would be so slow, so agonizing, and by night’s end, there’s be nothing there but cries for me to finish her. She’d never be the same again.”

She clenched her eyes shut at his torture. “And what makes you think she’d want that?”

His lips brushed against hers, “You certainly don’t have complaints when I do it to you.” 

Her skin tingled under his breath, her ears grew warm, her thighs flexed in want, but her chest burned over his words. Elain loathed to think of some shelmlen doll having his attention, being doted on and worshipped like she had been countless times before. Alena wasn’t deserving. She would have no idea how to keep his attention, how to make him praise the ground she walked on, how to make him happy. And yet, it’s all she could see. Her body blushing just as brightly as her cheeks when he’d given her what she wanted…

No. That was only for Elain to have. And she would have him whenever the mood would strike her, without interference from so-called competitors. 

She cupped his jaw in her hands and kissed him roughly when she realized the mood had already struck her. 

Her tongue slipped between his surprised lips and smiling teeth, and she tasted him deeply, having her fill of him. Her tongue stroked his with a needful fervor, her whole body pressed against him in hunger, and with a poorly-contained lust, he fell into her. His weight pushed her up against the wall next to the painting of the Pearl resembling Lady Alena, and its frame rattled on the stone wall at the force in which he returned her sudden need to devour. There was some solace in her chest at that. Revas was hers to indulge in, and it was only fair that he knew.

“You’re jealous,” he moaned the words into her mouth, all full of quiet passion, making her promises she hoped he’d keep by night’s end. By the Creators, she’d weep if he couldn’t.

“No,” she breathed, but felt the need to prove it anyways. 

Elain moved her hands down to his lower back, then pulled him flush against her waist, and she lifted her thigh and set it on his hip to keep him there. He gave a soft chuckle at her desperate actions, but was quieted quickly once she began to grind her hips in slow, fluid motions. Up and down his pelvis, with the fabric of their clothes providing her a wonderful friction that attempted to sate the feverish desire that had overcome her. With determined scowl on her face, she found her rhythm, and to her great relief, felt something hard growing between her thighs. 

He sucked air between his teeth as she brought his cock back to life with her motions, only making her all the more inflamed. “You are _so_ jealous.”

“I have nothing to be jealous of,” she whispered as she bit at his lips, then his neck, then his chin. Anything she could get her teeth on, so she could leave a reminder on his skin that she was only one who does this to him. “The others could try until they were old and withered, and it wouldn’t change a thing. None of them can hold your attention like I do.”

“Is that so?” he returned her bites and added his tongue, licking his way down her neck. When he reached her chest, he swirled the tip around her skin, just above where the fabric sat. To her surprise, he brought his hands to the tiny metal hooks holding her dress in place, and one by one, unclasped them until her breasts were exposed. He greedily took one of her nipples in his mouth, alternating sucking and biting until her cheeks burned hot.

“Yes,” she finally answered him with a moan, though she truly could not say whether it was meant as a response to his question, or a declaration of her pleasure at his mouth’s devious workings. 

Revas seemed satisfied enough with her response in any case, and to her complete delight, his hips began to thrust in time with her movements. His mouth moved from her now-erect nipple and fell on hers with a molten need. His tongue slipping inside like thick, sweet honey, and Elain’s body reacted with a wet heat between her thighs. 

They frantically went through the motions, all lust-struck and mindless, and their bodies mimicked the act they both so wanted; him inside her, filling her, and her beckoning him deeper and deeper into that intimacy, until they would both burst. Despite all the fabric in the way, Elain still envisioned that penetration vividly; felt it with every thrust of their hips; tasted it on his persuasive tongue. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his head, silently asking for something more. 

The burning in her cheeks spread to her ears, then down her neck. It ran from the tips of her fingers and toes up her limbs, until she felt it find the center of her. She broke away from his mouth so she could let out desperate gasps in an attempt to slow what was building in her, but this only spurred Revas on further. It all become too much all at once, and that heat in the center of her begged to spread out again, to let it take her over the edge.

Elain forgot the game in that moment. She would have entirely forgotten that they had not come into that gallery alone, too, had it not been for the loud sound of shoes on stone moving towards them again. 

And when she finally remembered, she realized she had just nearly let Revas win.

But her body froze when she heard the voices of the young women from earlier, and her mind froze in the realization that she was, in fact, without any doubt whatsoever…jealous. And her jealousy had nearly made her throw away her victory in the most crude ways. 

It helped soothe the loss of climax that had nearly taken her, but it only further fanned the flames of her desire for a win. 

“ _I can’t bear to look at another painting of a lavender field_ …”

They were getting closer, and it was too late to try to leave the little alcove unnoticed now. Elain dropped her leg from Revas’ waist quickly, then dragged him behind the heavy curtain hanging from the ceiling that was meant to protect the painting. They pressed against the wall, careful not to make the fabric bulge too much and expose their little...distraction. 

“ _Your aunt is so obsessed with dead men painting fields of flowers. I’d say she has a fantasy left unfulfilled_.”

“ _Oh, stop!_ ”

“ _Speaking of fantasies left unfilled…where did your Warlord go, Alena?_ ”

Elain clenched her teeth together as she heard their footsteps slow right in front of the alcove. Whether it was from nervousness or from her jealousy rising up again, she could not tell. Not that it mattered. Both were intruding on her game, and she despised interruptions.

“ _That woman he was with dragged him away_ ,” Elain recognized Alena’s voice. “ _I was hoping he would still be here when we finished that boring tour._ ”

“ _Ha!_ ” one of the lady’s entourage scoffed. “ _To what end? He’s an elf._ ”

“ _And? That doesn’t matter to me_. _Elf or no, he was better company than the lot invited here tonight._ ”

“ _Certainly better company in your bed than the others would be_ ,” one answered her and the rest of them giggled. Elain was not so amused. 

“ _Well, he was quite handsome, wasn’t he?_ ” Alena inquired from her sycophantic group.

“ _Handsome? Not especially. But well fit? Most definitely. Those shoulders alone…_ ”

Elain seethed at the gall of these shemlen. They were nothing, just primped up, drole little dolls for their families to sell off to the highest bidder. What did they know of Revas? Of his tastes? Of his wants? His secrets? They couldn’t understand him anymore than they could understand the meaning behind these lifeless shem paintings and their lifeless faces stained with garrish rouge. 

She knew they were no competition to her, but even still, she was besides herself in her affront, and besides herself with the desire that had still not extinguished. It wasn’t just enough to stop this Lady Alena from her naive conquest; Elain also needed to show why she was not so easily dismissed.

While they paced the hall and laughed like desert hyenas, Elain dropped to her knees set out to prove her superiority. She yanked down Revas’ already loosened leggings past his hips, freeing his hardness. That he was still hard too only made her more determined. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and with a rising passion, took him in her mouth. 

Revas tensed at the motion, and for a moment, she was afraid he’d push her away. But that fear seemed unfounded. She moved her lips down the length of his shaft, and instead of stopping her, he grabbed a handful of her hair and guided her motions. She nearly moaned at the development, but was acutely aware now that they were not alone.

“ _Do you think we should go to dinner now? At least there will be drinks there._ ”

She rolled her tongue on the tip of his head, teasing him, and she felt his fingers digging into her scalp, urging her to continue. 

“ _Maybe the Warlord will be there…_ ”

“ _Really, Alena, pining away already? Do you really want him that badly?”_

She swallowed him deeper now, her mouth opening wider to accommodate his shaft disappearing inside. Her tongue still teased him, but she also start to suck, making a tight seal around him. Revas must have enjoyed this greatly, because he pulled on her hair to convince her to move faster. Elain happily obliged. 

“ _Don’t tease. I’d have more fun with him than anything else this evening. Is that so bad?_ ”

The thrill of giving Revas something this shemlen wanted acted as fuel for Elain, making her lust flair up with each stroke her mouth gave him. She let her free hand fall between her legs, and while the ladies gossiped about what other things they could entertain themselves with, Elain slipped her fingers between the lips inside of her thighs. Her fingers moved in tandem with her mouth, up and down the full length of his cock, and up and down the length of her slit, until she felt as if there where a river of pure fire flowing from both places. 

It was a thirst she felt needed quenching, and as her head bobbed on her lover’s cock, she slipped a finger inside herself and languished at the wet heat within. She hastened her motions, thrusting her fingers with renewed fervor for that delicious climax; and all the while, imagining the poor Lady Alena crying as as she became aware of the prey she planned on sinking her claws into driving his hips into Elain’s mouth in search of his own release.

The fantasy became all too engrossing for her; the feel of him in her mouth, her fingers in her own body, and the heat spreading between them...it was all too much to take.

Entirely lost in the moment, Elain let out a moan of pleasure from deep in her chest.

“ _Did you hear that_?”

Revas held onto her head tightly at the comment, preventing her from moving anymore as they heard footsteps come to the entrance of the alcove.

“ _I don’t see anything._ ”

The desire had not abated in her however, and doing her best not to move overly much or too quickly, Elain held on tight to his cock in her mouth, pushing the tip of it all the way to the back of her throat. She kept it there, letting her tongue languidly lick the base of him; and by the way his grip tightened, she knew his knuckles would be white, and that he enjoyed this as much as her.

“ _I swear I heard it coming from in here_.”

Footsteps came a little closer, and despite her better judgment, Elain found herself even more aroused. The thought of Alena pulling back the curtain and finding her in this...predicament. Oh, the shame of it, but also the victory. _See?_ She would say. _He was never yours to have. In a thousand lifetimes, you would never be my equal._

“ _It was probably rats. This palace is so old, they probably live in the walls._ ”

“ _But I was so sure…_ ”

“ _Come on. Let’s go to dinner and try to find your Warlord_ _before you have to settle on some merchant’s son. Again._ ”

Their footsteps slowly got further and further away, until they were out of the alcove and heading back towards the great hall of the palace. The thrill of the potential of being caught started to leave her, and Elain became all too aware now with what she’d done. She released him from her mouth and took in a deep breath to still her racing heart.

Revas moved his hands from her head and grabbed her arms to help her up. When they stood, he pushed back the curtain and they saw each other in the full lamplight after what they’d just went through with.

“So fucking jealous,” Revas was grinning widely, and at hearing his voice, she suddenly felt levity at the whole situation, instead of the driving desperation of before.

So she laughed.

“Perhaps I am,” she admitted while she buckled the metal clasps on her bust back up. He dressed himself as well, making sure the evidence of their clandestine affair was erased. “I don’t see why you should complain, though. You seemed to benefit from it greatly.”

He leaned over and kissed her gently, “No complaints.”

“If you’d like, I can finish what I started,” she said breathily, letting her hands slip up and down his waist softly. Revas let his hands mimic hers, then wander any place he sought fit. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed to himself. “That is a very, very tempting offer...”

“And I have even more temptations that have yet to be seen,” she bit onto his lip, and it was his turn to moan; albeit, much quieter than she had.

“Very, very tempting…”

“But?”

“There’s still a game to win,” he replied. “And if I let you finish this now, I lose.”

“Oh? I hadn’t thought about that,” she said innocently.

“That’s a lie.”

“I know,” Elain sighed dramatically. “And poor lie at that. I will have to do better for when I meet my prince.”

He shook his head, then dug his hands in her sides, tickling her, and the squeal of a laugh she let out echoed down the marble walls of the gallery. 

“Still on about your prince, huh? Even after you practically fucked me in front of an audience?”

Elain tried to frown, but simply couldn’t find it in her, “You make it sound so crude. I prefer thinking of it as...correcting delusions of grandeur.”

“Well, if making you jealous is all it takes for you to do that, maybe I’ll have to find myself a princess.”

She puckered her lips as if she tasted something sour, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Just after the words left her lips, a bell rang, coming from the direction of the great hall, and immediately afterwards, the music playing filled the air, louder than it had before. It was a signal that dinner was being served. 

Revas looked at her and rose his elbow to his waist, and she hooked her arm inside. “I don’t know, Peach. I’d do a lot of things if it meant you’re on your knees like that again.”

They began to walk towards the sound of music and talking, and the busts and paintings surrounding them seemed like a blur of clutter to her now. All she really wanted to see was him. Everything else was a distraction. 

“Perhaps you can put this seductive prowess you keep bragging about to use on me then. I’m tired of having to do all the work tonight,” she jested with him. 

“Maybe I will. I just wanted to give you a fighting change first.”

Elain laughed behind her hand as they crossed out of the gallery and back into the main corridors of the palace. More sconces and lamps had been lit, and more people filled the spaces in the halls than had before they were sucked into their little tour. 

And standing at the nearest archway leading into the hall was the Lord Whitman.

“Ah, there you are, my deer! I’ve been looking all over for you,” he called to her, as he set out his hand to act as her escort. 

She was repulsed at the idea of putting more time in with this oaf, but she also remembered there was a game to win, and she’d nearly blown it all over some petty jealousy. But Revas was just as jealous as her, and while others might have learned a lesson about turn about being fair play, Elain simply retained how to weaponize a weakness. And she wanted him very, very weak by night’s end.

She reached her hand out and let Lord Whitman take it, then centered herself to muster the innocent Dalish maid he wanted her to be.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I was taken on a small tour of the art held here, but I am happy to see you again.”

“And I you, my sweet doe. This soiree is dreadfully gray without your sun shining near me” he lowered his voice when she joined him. “But where are my manners. How did you enjoy the art? Me personally, I find it all too modern for my tastes…”

Lord Whitman released her hand and set it gently on the small of her back as he prattled on about his own ideas about art. His fingers brushed her there, reaching dangerously close to lower, more intimate things, and she knew he was already strung up from a tree by her charms. 

She felt a smug satisfaction at that, knowing Revas would see this all as clear as the day, but she still wanted to glance at it herself. Before they walked under the archway leading to the great hall, Elain looked over her shoulder at him.

Naturally, he was as red as a cherry and scowling, but still following closely behind the pair. She met his eyes, and very deliberately, placed her index finger in her mouth to the bottom knuckle, then slowly pulled it out, letting her lips pucker around it while she did. When her finger was finally free of her wet mouth, she flicked the very tip of it with her tongue, never letting her gaze break with his.

His mouth curled up at the corner ever so slightly at her little show, and satisfied, Elain turned back around and passed the threshold of the main hall with plans of conquest on her mind. 


End file.
